


Nobody But You

by sequential



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Tentacle Sex, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-05-31 17:17:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15124196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequential/pseuds/sequential
Summary: Ford attracts some unexpected attention, and Bill reminds him of his place. AU where Ford is much younger when Bill enters his life.





	Nobody But You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anysin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anysin/gifts).



> Thanks for the prompts and hope you enjoy! :D

It’s unexpected, when Ford finds himself faced with a confession from a classmate. He’s always been a misfit, a _mutant_ , and he’d expected taunts and hidden looks of disgust, not—not this. It caught him so off guard he’d stuttered through his response, and by the time he’d regained his senses, Bill had disappeared.

It wasn’t abnormal for Bill to wander off during the day, though they spend nearly all of their time together lately. What worries him is the way Bill’s eye had narrowed before he’d disappeared, watching Ford respond. If his gaze had been an assessment, Ford’s not sure he passed.

It preoccupies him throughout the day, and he finds himself unexpectedly relieved when he returns to his and Stan’s room to find Bill floating there, waiting for him. Stan’s still away—staying late at school for detention—and though he feels bad about it, Ford’s glad he’s not here so he can spend time with Bill alone. Bill doesn’t like Stan, anyway, says Ford should keep better company.

“Sixer,” Bill says. Ford has a moment to register the dangerous tone of his voice before the room disappears around him in darkness.

 

Bill can’t materialize in the physical world—not yet, he says, maybe eventually with Ford’s help—so, in order for them to… to be intimate, Bill has to enter Ford’s Mindscape. It’s so familiar now that Bill can slip in and out comfortable as a pair of pajamas, the transition so seamless that Ford has difficulty at times telling the difference. But this time, it’s a jolting feeling, leaving Ford with a ringing in his head as Bill flickers, then reappears in front of him real and solid. The room around them remains a pitch black nothingness.

When he tries to raise a hand to his head to massage his temples, he finds his wrists bound behind his back with rope.

“Bill?” Ford asks, and Bill shushes him with a finger to his lips. Unthinkingly, Ford parts them, an automatic reaction. Bill betrays barely any surprise before pushing his finger in, pressing down on Ford’s tongue, holding it there until spit pools in his mouth and he has to swallow around it loudly.

“What was that today, Sixer?” Bill asks him, releasing Ford’s tongue so he can talk. A line of spit trails down from the corner of his mouth, but with his hands bound he can’t wipe it away.

“It was nothing,” Ford says, quickly. “You… you know I’m only yours.” He still finds himself blushing as he says those words. He’s known Bill for what feels like half his life, but this development between them is still new, a delicate thing he’s afraid to touch for fear of disturbing it. 

“Really?” Bill asks, dragging the word out. He finally wipes away the spit on Ford’s face, only to lace those fingers into his hair. Ford winces at the sticky feeling—but Bill hadn’t meant to do that, probably. He always was forgetful with physical things. 

“...Then why were you bumbling about like some _lovestruck fool_?” His eye flashes momentarily red as he speaks, before returning to its normal color.

“I wasn’t!” Ford says, and is immediately hit with the mental image of him blushing and stuttering as he turns the girl down. Bill does this sometimes, projects images into his mind. This one starts off accurate enough, but Ford’s not sure he’d been quite that red, and he’s pretty sure he _hadn’t_ had a hard-on just - just from that. 

“Not to mention the way you seduced her to begin with,” Bill says, as the image shatters to leave Bill floating in front of him, looking unimpressed. “Really, kid, I thought you were above such things. Do I have to lock you up to keep you from acting like a bitch in heat?”

The words send a jolt through Ford, horror and arousal both. They’ve played at games like this, a little rough, a little mean, but this time Bill sounds serious. He wants to protest, to reassure Bill that he isn’t interested in anyone else, but when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out of his mouth but panicked barking. 

Bill laughs, and pets his head as his barking gets more frantic, and then mid-sound it transforms back into words, a stream of “—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I—“

“I know, kid, but I can’t let you off that easy, you know.”

Ford, still panting, nods. He doesn’t like it when Bill punishes him, but if it means forgiveness...

 

The ropes around his wrists seem to expand, spreading over his body. They stretch tight over his body, pressing his clothing against him in a way that must look provocative. And then the ropes apply pressure, manipulating him to their whims, until he’s knelt down with his face to the formless ground, hands still behind his back. And his ass in the air, making him recall with a shiver Bill’s words— _a bitch in heat_.

Bill is kind to him, though, as he strokes his ass, giving it a few light smacks, nothing too forceful. Bill can do worse, he knows. 

“I’m the only one that can see you like this,” Bill says, as he traces a circle around Ford’s hole with a finger. Just like that, Ford feels cold air against that his skin, the circle of cloth disappeared beneath Bill’s finger, leaving him exposed. It’s somehow worse than being entirely naked, and his face flushes red in shame.

“Y-yes,” he answers, as Bill dips a finger into him, easily. He’s always lubed up and ready in this world. Sometimes Bill has him do it in the real world, too—says it helps carry over in the Mindscape, though Ford thinks Bill doesn’t need any help with what he does.

“And why is that?” Bill asks, fucking his finger in roughly, catching against the rim occasionally and making Ford wince against it.

“Because I’m yours,” Ford says, easily, and tries to make himself relax for Bill. “Because you love me."

“Because I’m the _only one_ that loves you,” Bill echoes. He adds two fingers in quick succession, and it’s—it’s a stretch, but a satisfying one. Ford knows Bill could fit anything he likes within him without causing damage—this is the Mindscape, after all, and Bill likes to indulge his… his curiosity—but today, Bill likes him tight, clenching hard against three fingers, teetering between pleasure and pain. “Because I’m the only one that could love you.”

“Yes,” Ford agrees, shakily. An image rises unbidden to his mind, of the girl from earlier, seeing him like this. She would turn away in disgust, recognize him for the freak that he is. 

“Aw, don’t look so down,” Bill says, pulling his fingers out of Ford forcefully, making him yelp again. He laces the fingers of a hand with one of Ford’s, bound behind his back. Ford grimaces at the feeling of lube slipping against his fingers, but Bill’s given himself six fingers for this, and the realization makes gratitude swell up inside Ford, so overwhelming it feels like a physical ache.

“I could never let you be with anyone else, but… well, if you want more dicks, I can do that for you.”

“Wait, w-what?” 

Before Ford can properly process it, Bill pulls away, and a mass of tentacles emerges from the ground, gripping loosely at him in a rough imitation of the ropes.

“Well? Whaddaya think?” Bill asks, circling around to face him and cupping his face in one hand. “Clearly I haven’t been satisfying you enough.”

Before this, Bill had only ever used his fingers, or the occasional toy, or on one memorable occasion, the tip of his cane, long and thin, pressing into him with painful precision. Never—never something like this. 

“No, I want—I want you,” Ford protests, trying to struggle against his ropes. This only seems to excite the tentacles, which latch onto him more strongly, leaving sore sucker marks when they pull away from skin. 

“But this is me!” Bill says, turning one arm into a wiggly tentacle in a tiny imitation of the ones currently tormenting him. It wraps loosely around his nose, making him go cross-eyed to look at it. It looks ridiculous, and Ford feels ashamed of his fear, but it does nothing to stop the feeling from rising up like an inevitable tide as a tentacle slips beneath his shirt, latching onto his chest, and another curiously discovers the hole in his pants, leaving gooey slime across his ass.

“I want you like you normally are,” Ford protests, quietly, trying to appeal to him, but apparently it’s the wrong thing to say. Bill’s tentacle arm stretches out, then tightens this time around Ford’s neck in a rebuke.

“Are you trying to tell me what to do?” he asks.

“No!” Ford cries out.

Bill’s eye narrows. “Well, just in case.” He snaps at one of the tentacles, and it reaches upward, forcing itself into Ford’s mouth. It doesn’t taste like anything, but it’s slimy and large and Ford sputters around it, nearly choking. 

Bill soothes him with a hand in his hair, guiding his head to an angle to minimize his gagging. “Hey, relax!” he says, and it doesn’t help, but Ford adjusts, eventually, breathing in and out of his nose in time with the unnatural feeling of the tentacle reaching into his throat. As it reaches deeper, the wider base goes into his mouth, stretching his lips uncomfortably. He can feel its prehensile tip twisting deep inside his throat, toying with his gag reflex. 

“You think it can make it all the way through?” Bill asks, taking a comfortable seat in the air as if he’s nothing but an observer. “The little tentacle that could.” He gives the tentacle a tap, sending it surging forward into Ford—oh, god, could it really—?—before it retreats again, and Ford realizes it was one of Bill’s jokes. 

“No, it wouldn’t be fun if it were only the one, even if it did manage quite a lot. We’re here because you need more than one to keep you happy, aren’t we?” 

As he speaks, the tentacle prodding around the hole in his pants finally enters him. It’s only the tip at first, and it wriggles around inside, exploring. It’s almost ticklish, and Ford suddenly has to suppress the absurd urge to burst out laughing. He convulses with the force of it and chokes on the tentacle in his mouth again, until the one in his ass finally forces itself all the way in and replaces the strange, giggly panic with proper pain.

Ford groans as it fucks him, the suckers seeming to cling to his walls, strange against the sensitive flesh. It’s not the good kind of groan, but Bill just ruffles his hair and says, “I know, I know. You love it, don’t you?” 

Ford groans again in protest, but the tentacle in his ass presses in again relentlessly until it finds his prostate, sending his voice higher-pitched with pleasure. He can’t deny the way his cock is dripping beneath him, even as it’s completely neglected by the tentacles slithering all around it.

Unconsciously, he’s been fucking the air, like a—like an animal. Bill circles around him to look at his cock, and despite everything, it makes Ford flush up in shame. 

“Wow, you really do like this!” he says. And then he flicks a finger against Ford’s cock, a flash of white-hot pain that makes him cry out and clench tight around the tentacle. 

Bill laughs, but when he stops, he says, indulgently, “Sorry, sorry, that was mean. But you’re not quite there yet, are you?”

Ford whimpers, and his hips hitch forward again against his will. Does he want more? Does he deserve more?

“Well, I’m not touching you like this, but… we’ll see how many it takes till you get there, alright?”

How… many? As Ford thinks this, another tentacle slowly slithers in the direction of his hole. When it presses into him, slithering and flexible yet surprisingly unyielding, the pure surprise of it, coupled with an almost painful stretch, sends a wave of pleasure through him. He can’t look down, but he can feel with sudden, intense, clarity the tentacle that joins him partway through his orgasm, milking him into oversensitivity. 

When he comes down from his high, it continues to work his cock, trying to push his resisting body back into arousal. The slime against his skin feels thicker than the rest, strangely sticky…—his own come, Ford realizes with a start, and it sends a strange twist through his gut. Not enough to get him going again, but Bill’s forbidding expression tells him there’s plenty of time to go.

 

Usually, when they’re done, Bill will take his time cleaning Ford up, letting him come back to his senses slowly. Ford hadn’t even thought to imagine that this wasn’t necessary, that Bill could just snap his fingers and he’d be back to a presentable state. Of course, it’s logical—Bill can control almost anything here—but still, he finds himself utterly disoriented, when one moment he’s on the ground in a fucked-out haze, the tentacles retreating into the floor and leaving him covered with slimy fluids, and the next he’s standing fully-clothed again, not even a phantom pain to remind him of what’s happened.

Still, he finds himself sinking to his knees, legs weak not with a physical ache but something else. Bill floats lower in front of him, cradling his face gently. His eye transforms into a mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to his face, and Ford finds himself relaxing into it. He’s already bent low, so it doesn’t take more than a bowing of his neck to kiss one of Bill’s feet. When he looks up again, Bill’s eye is half-lidded in pleasure, and Ford pushes down the tangle of emotions tying themselves into knots within himself. 

This is where he belongs, with Bill. He shouldn’t push Bill to such extreme intensity, but shamefully, guiltily, he treasures the knowledge that he can.


End file.
